


Feeling

by AuctaSinistra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:47:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26673874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuctaSinistra/pseuds/AuctaSinistra
Summary: This is an old fic, from 2007. The original "summary" in my LJ was as follows: Reading Beth's infidelity story here reminded me that when I joined in to that discussion on cordelia_v 's lj long ago, I too got an idea for an infidelity fic. So I went and looked at it and it was sort of easily finished. There's not much to it, no action, no smut, no real plot. Not much of anything. It's a boring dialogue-heavy piece. But it has the advantage of being fairly short. :)
Relationships: Harry Potter/Remus Lupin, Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Comments: 15
Kudos: 47





	Feeling

Feeling

You don’t get invited to funerals. You see the notice in the paper, and you know whether you’re welcome or not. You simply know.

Snape knew.

He went anyway.

Out of respect for Lupin. That was a lie. Perhaps not entirely; he had had some sympathy, some respect for the werewolf, certainly didn’t hate him. Had nothing against him, though they were never friends.

But he had hated him, sometimes, some dark nights, for an hour or two, hated him fiercely, when he was alone and had not expected to be. Though he had no right to expectations; he was a fool to have them.

Anyway, his expectations, foolish or not, didn’t matter now. Lupin was dead and he was here. To say …

_Goodbye?_

__

__

_I win?_ But he wasn’t sure he had.

~*~ *~ 

The funeral hall outside Hogsmeade was two-thirds full when Snape slipped inside, a few minutes after the posted service time. He took a seat in shadow at the back and identified those he could by the backs of their heads, or quick glimpses of their profiles as they spoke softly to one another. The hall had the semblance of a church, high-ceilinged and softly lit, the chill air full of dust and solemn years. Snape looked at the coffin on the dais, draped in midnight-blue velvet, and felt a brief wash of genuine pity that passed almost too quickly to be understood. Perhaps he was only feeling sorry for his own mortality, his own losses.

Harry stepped up to the dais beside the coffin, his face white but composed. Snape blinked very dry eyes and searched Harry’s expression for some hint, of grief or its opposite, but only exhaustion showed.

Having presumably cast a silent _sonorus_ , Harry began.

“Thank you, everyone, for coming.” He placed his hands on either side of the podium. “And thank you to everyone, all our friends, who were so helpful during the last months. Remus wanted you to know how much he appreciated your patience and love, and I want to thank you all, one more time, for all the help you’ve given me. The support, the love, the shoulders to cry on.” Harry shook his head. “I couldn’t have made it without you all.”

Snape blinked again, fast, throat and stomach tight, sour. He knew without doubt that he was not included in any part of this speech, but the galling unfairness at least had a familiar taste.

“The end was a relief for Remus,” Harry went on, and Snape had to clench his jaw on a laugh.

“He was worn out and ready to go, and he wanted all of you – all of us – to remember him at his best. I had six years with him. Years of peace, years without Voldemort, thanks partly to him and partly to all of you.” A faint murmur from the crowd and Harry smiled slightly. “And partly me, yes. But in any case, I had those six years of peace with Remus, and I cherished them. Some of you knew him for much longer, but all of us loved him and will miss him. All of us knew what a kind, wise, and brave human being he was, and we were all blessed by his love.” Harry paused and Snape closed his eyes, swallowing down his anger.

“I don’t really have anything else to say, except what Remus said to me: ‘Remember me and smile. Don’t be sad. Just remember.’”

Snape remembered.

A slow march of sonorous organ chords began from somewhere in the gallery of the funeral hall, and people began to shift in their seats, leaning to whisper to each other or hug one another.

Snape left, careful only that Harry did not see him.

~*~ *~ 

Two weeks passed without visit or interruption, and that didn’t surprise Snape. Two weeks after that passed the same way, and he was still not surprised. Bad things had stopped surprising him years ago.

Then Harry came to his shop, to the little flat above the shop, late at night, as he’d done irregularly for about a year, before Lupin’s death.

Snape opened his door, as he’d done each time, but Harry didn’t come in, didn’t meet his eyes squarely as he had always done. And Snape knew, felt his body and spirit tighten, prepared to take the full weight of what was coming, so that it would not break him.

“You’re not coming in,” he didn’t ask, his voice iced over.

“I …” Harry hung his head. Not faking; he had stopped being phony around Severus long ago. “I just can’t. Not right now.”

“Then why are you here?”

That made Harry’s head snap up. “To … to tell you. It – I couldn’t send an owl, it wasn’t right, but I …”

“You what?”

“I can’t!” Harry cried. “I just … can’t, right now. I care about you, I don’t want to hurt you, but I just can’t. Don’t you understand?”

“Why not now?” Snape snapped. “Why a year ago, a month ago, but not now?” Anger boiled up in him at Harry’s posture of helplessness, and he shouted, “You can’t cheat on a dead man!”

Harry stiffened and Snape realised his own reaction was giving Harry an out, the out of anger, of blaming him.

“You don’t understand. I loved him! You must know that – you had to know I loved him.”

Expertly choking back his rage, Snape said softly, “I knew it.”

“That’s why I can’t just now.” Harry slumped again.

It was done. It had been done, he knew now, before it started. Maybe he’d always known it. Anything he said, now, would end it. Even a long enough silence would do.

Surrendering, he said again, “Then why are you here?”

Harry threw his hands up with a strangled noise of frustration and spun away, stomping down the narrow stair to the street.

Snape closed the door before he was out of sight, closed it softly and locked it, and didn’t move for a long time.

~*~ *~ 

A profitable winter, a winter of chill winds and many colds, had all but passed before Snape saw Harry Potter in the flesh again. In the flesh standing wrapped in a close-furled cloak outside Snape’s potions shop, cheeks pink from the cold, eyes wary as they latched onto Snape.

Snape met his eyes, communicating nothing, and continued walking.

“Severus.”

He stopped, permitting his body a grudging half-turn.

“I was coming to see you.” He sounded resentful.

Snape blinked. “Of course.” He brushed past Harry, back into his shop, and moved behind the counter, setting down the sack of fresh herbs he’d crossed the street to collect.

“What can I do for you?”

Harry thudded his clenched fists on the glass top, his expression all blundering determination.

“Stop it.”

Snape let a halfstep of impatience – just one turn of the peg – tighten his voice. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“You can stop punishing me. Stop treating me like this.”

“I am treating you precisely as you have chosen to be treated. As someone to whom I mean nothing. You can only be here as a customer, because you have chosen to be nothing else to me. Therefore I repeat: is there something I can help you with?”

Harry closed his eyes, briefly. “It’s been three months. Are you ever going to forgive me?”

Snape snorted, a wry laugh. “For choosing the memory of a dead man over my living presence? For preferring _nothing_ to me? Yes. I forgive you. Everyone makes mistakes – I know that better than most. If forgiveness is what you came for, you may have a full helping _gratis_. Good day.”

“I left you alone,” Harry said. “I thought that was what you wanted at first. You were mad at me and I wanted to give you … and me … space to think before I apologised.”

Snape began drawing the tiny string bags of herbs from the sack, sorting them into convenient drawers behind the counter and speaking to those tidy little compartments, or to his fingers as they deftly categorized his stock.

“It’s too late. You made it clear that I was nothing to you but a convenience. You’ll find another soon enough. Or hire it done; you’ve the galleons, and it can make no difference to you.”

He shut the drawer and looked up. Harry was pacing now, small, directionless motions about the shop.

“That’s not the truth. I was grieving. I felt guilty. Like … like if I hadn’t … if I’d loved him more, he wouldn’t have died.” Harry’s head jerked up, eyes flashing. “You don’t need to tell me that’s stupid. I know it is.”

“Find someone else’s shoulder to cry on,” Snape said, folding and tucking away his sack. “You don’t deserve comfort from me.”

“I know it,” Harry said, his eyes bleak but dry. “I’m explaining. I owe you that. I owe you an admission that I’ve been wrong and I know exactly how. You were good to me even though I didn’t give you …” He chuckled sourly. “Anything.”

“You gave as much as you felt,” Snape said calmly. “Nothing.”

“That’s not true,” Harry argued. “You talk as if you really think you mean nothing to me – like anyone would have done.”

Snape took in a breath and leaned on the counter, his stare now locked to Harry’s, his focus stilling Harry’s nervous movements.

“I don’t think that. I know it. You wish to believe that you’re better than that, that you aren’t a cold-hearted user who simply fucked me because I was convenient, that you really cared.” He sneered the words. “You need to believe better of yourself. I have no such need. I know the truth. I never blamed you for it. I still don’t. I knew what the situation was; you deceived only yourself. Face facts. You used me.” It was a statement, not an accusation, but Harry took it as one as Snape had known he would. Flushing, he stepped closer, hands upraised as if ready for spell or blow.

“If I did, then you used me too!”

Snape shook his head, tired to death of it already. “Go away. Grow up and think about what you are. What you did.”

“And then what? Come back here and apologise again?”

“Potter, I fully expect never to see you again, once you walk out that door. I only want you to understand _why_. You need to admit to yourself that this is about your conscience, not about any imaginary feelings for me. It was never about me. It was always about you. About what _you_ wanted. About what you wanted when the man you really loved was too tired, or too ill, or … what was it, Harry? The thrill of cheating? You’ve always been a thrill-seeker, and all the big thrills of your life are over with now. Or was it just fear?”

Harry blinked, straightening, still angry but now confused, off-balance. Snape edged around the counter.

“You wanted out. Admit it. You wanted out of that mausoleum. Sometimes you hated him, didn’t you?”

Harry shook his head, panicked, and backed into the shelf behind him as Snape slowly advanced.

“Sometimes you wanted to hit him. Sometimes you wanted him to just. Fucking. Die. Didn’t you?” Snape didn’t raise his voice, but Harry, white-faced now, flinched as if he’d been slapped.

“You wanted out, away from death and dying, away from the flaccid pale corpse you’d tied yourself to. You wanted to feel. You wanted to feel alive. Especially when there was no price to pay. You wanted someone like me. Someone who asked nothing, who _could_ ask nothing of you. I was the perfect place to flee to when you couldn’t stand your life. I even supplied the wolfsbane to keep the man you loved alive.”

“I – I came to you,” Harry stammered, fists clenched before him as if to physically batter down Snape’s words. “I could have gone anywhere. I could have … gone to Knockturn Alley. I wanted you.”

Snape stopped. “Yes. You did. You wanted me. _You_ wanted. It was always about you. But you felt nothing for me.”

“I felt…” Harry’s throat worked, as if he were near to tears. “I felt…”

“Because we fucked? Because you orgasmed? Don’t confuse sensation with emotion.” Snape slid back behind the counter, placing both hands flat on its shining surface, careful to show that they were rock-steady.

“And that is far more explanation, far more understanding, than you fucking deserve. Now get out of my shop unless you plan to purchase something.”

Fists near his chin, Harry stared at him, his eyes pinched, bewildered.

Finally, he said, “I’m sorry I hurt you.” He backed up, stumbled a little, and turned to go, letting the door bang shut behind him.

Snape moved quickly to the door, locked it, watching Harry’s hunched back as he walked away.

“Still always about you.” He shook his head. When Harry’s shape began to blur, Snape turned the sign to “Closed” and went upstairs.

The End


End file.
